#tumblr fiction
Two identical infants lay in the cradle. “One you bore, the other is a Changeling. Choose wisely,” the Fae’s voice echoed from the shadows. “I’m taking both my children,” the mother said defiantly.
Once upon a time there was a peasant woman who was unhappy because she had no children. She was happy in all other things – her husband was kind and loving, and they owned their farm and had food and money enough. But she longed for children.
She went to church and prayed for a child every Sunday, but no child came. She went to every midwife and wise woman for miles around, and followed all their advice, but no child came.
So at last, though she knew of the dangers, she drew her brown woolen shawl over her head and on Midsummer’s Eve she went out to the forest, to a certain clearing, and dropped a copper penny and a lock of her hair into the old well there, and she wished for a child.
“You know,” a voice said behind her, a low and cunning voice, a voice that had a coax and a wheedle and a sly laugh all mixed up in it together, “that there will be a price to pay later.”
She did not turn to look at the creature. She knew better. “I know it,” she said, still staring into the well. “And I also know that I may set conditions.”
“That is true,” the creature said, after a moment, and there was less laugh in its voice now. It wasn’t pleased that she knew that. “What condition do you set? A boy child? A lucky one?”
“That the child will come to no harm,” she said, lifting her head to stare into the woods. “Whether I succeed in paying your price, or passing your test, or not, the child will not suffer. It will not die, or be hurt, or cursed with ill luck or any other thing. No harm of any kind.”
“Ahhhhh.” The sound was long and low, between a sigh and a hum. “Yes. That is a fair condition. Whatever price there is, whatever test there is, it will be for you and you alone.” A long, slender hand extended into her sight, almost human save for the skin, as pale a green as a new leaf. The hand held a pear, ripe and sweet, though the pears were nowhere ripe yet. “Eat this,” the voice said, and she trembled with the effort of keeping her eyes straight ahead. “All of it, on your way home. Before you enter your own gate, plant the core of it beside the gate, where the ground is soft and rich. You will have what you ask for.”
consider: a Scrubs-esque dramedy but about lawyers instead of doctors
I am not talking something like Suits, because in Suits a lot of the comedy is derived from hijinks and wisecracking. nor am I talking about something like Boston Legal with the whole bunny-ears lawyer thing providing a lot of the jokes.
oh no. I mean stuff like “oh god what even is a pleading anyway I never did this in law school” and “please lord just let me wipe the smirk off of opposing counsel’s face” and “damnit patricia WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU NOT TO DO FOR THE GOOD OF YOUR CASE AND ALSO MY SANITY?”
I would Fite and Dye for a Brooklyn Nine-Nine style comedy about public defenders instead of cops.
ALL the satire about the System. ALL the frantic dashing between departments - it becomes a running joke that the protagonists can’t speak to each other when morning arraignments are happening, they have to dash past each other at full speed exchanging increasingly comedic shorthand. ALL of the Weird Cases that come up when you just have to stick your head out of the office door and shout BOB, the HORSE guy is back and they DENIED MY MOTION to allow the chihuaha in the courtroom!
I mean, this show wouldn’t even need to hire writers to make it bizarre, submissions from counties all over the country would just start pouring in.
and so much salt. SO much salt. One of the protagonists shows up with the client’s actual literal priest and fifteen eyewitnesses and the DA still refuses to dismiss.
YES PLEASE THIS, and also with a dash of like, you know how in Parks and Rec, the townspeople are just Like That? like the lady who gets upset because she drank the sprinkler water despite the sign saying not to? like That, but clients
“why did you violate the protective order against you?”
“because my girlfriend called me and it made me upset, so I went to her house and punched her in the face and then kicked her dog. what was I supposed to do?”
“NOT THAT! especially after I told you not to violate the protective order. no, actually, let me rephrase: I didn’t tell you not to violate the protective order, the judge told you not to violate the protective order because of that bit in there that says ‘if you violate this order, you go to FUCKING JAIL’.”
“wow, you just don’t get how hard it is to not punch people in the face.”
“oh, believe me, I am intimately and immediately familiar with that struggle.”YESSSSSSS YES YES YES. the spirit of sprinkler lady is an eternal struggle and embodies exactly what I neeeeeed:
An ongoing list of recurring Client characters in [as yet unnamed Public Interest Law Show]:
- In One Ear, Out The Other (alternatively: I Showed Up To My Drug DUI Arraignment In A Bong T-shirt)
- the Sovereign Citizen (no, you actually don’t have a fundamental right to do that, and the cops Will GET YOU)
- the Better Lawyer Than You (because Google is totally the same as a J.D., right?)
- the Flirt (you’re literally in an orange jumpsuit behind glass for violating a restraining order, please STOP)
- Your Anger Is Reasonable, But That Doesn’t Make You Any Easier To Deal With (please stop screaming, or the front desk will call security on us again)
- The Scary One (please understand that when I smile, I’m trying to be friendly and professional and I am NOT laughing at you)
- The Heartbreaker (catchall client for the ones who are getting screwed over repeatedly by the system but your office isn’t resourced/designed/allowed to give them the help they need)
An ongoing list of recurring Opposing Counsel characters:
- Tired Old White Man In Wrinkled Suit (bonus wild tie)
- Tired Old Person Who Still Finds Time To Be Demeaning To You (tries for parental vibe, actually is condescending)
- That One Kid You Hated In Law School (got the internship the same time you did. This is a three-episode arc for one of the protags)
- Rich Whippersnapper Who Looks Down On Poors (dresses better than you, never quite makes eye contact)
I feel the Better Lawyer Than You Client in my soul. and just to add to the Opposing Counsel Cast List:
- How Did You Get This Job When You’re So Bad At It (with bonus Imposter Syndrome on the order of “if they’re that bad and still have a job, I must also be that bad”)
- The For-Profit Lawyers (swans into court whenever they want, files whatever they want, constantly and undeservedly smug. bonus points if they’re from The City)
- The Fool for A Client (says they’re going to represent themselves, proceeds to look stupid in front of the judge and everyone else, and you, protagonist, have to try to negotiate with them like a reasonable person)
also, there is a running gag that we only ever see one court clerk (whose name is Brenda), but she is played by a different actress wearing the same costume and hairstyle every time we see her (sometimes switching actresses inexplicably between shots).
this blew up a little bit and I’m getting two different responses:
1. “actually this is exactly like [other legal media property]”
2. “I AM A LAWYER. I HAVE WAITED NINE MILLION YEARS TO SPILL ALL OF THE FUCKING TEA AND MY MOMENT HAS COME.”
I want the title of this series to be my *favorite* client title for us…
Public Pretender
Coming this fall
Mentally combining the “bees are unionized and will leave if they don’t like their working conditions” post with the various “humans stow away on alien spaceships and do the jobs that are too dangerous for more fragile species” posts
Interstellar guidelines state that while approaching humans carelessly or aggressively can result in serious injury, and while you absolutelyshould not try to trap a swarm of humans on your ship, if you build a human-friendly habitat with enough food within grazing distance and safe places to sleep, you just might entice a colony to move in
Trapping a swarm of humans on your ship:
- unauthorized tunnels keep popping up in restricted zones
- theft of various items they consider cozy, delicious, cute, or extremely hazardous
- equipment sabotaged in supposedly impossible ways, and/or supposedly explosion-proofed material exploding
- received communications vary from heartfelt pleas for freedom to vengeful declarations of war to treatises on the sacred rights of spaceship-occupants to disturbingly specific threats to incomprehensible slam poetry
Encouraging a volunteer human colony to thrive:
- leaving items they like + building materials in areas they can access, then coming back later to find those areas transformed into fully organized warehouses/gardens/workshops
- items left lying around spontaneously being made cuter, cozier, tastier, and/or more hazardous
- new workarounds, temp fixes, or repurposes being tried out on any equipment that’s on the fritz (and some that’s not)
- disturbingly creative and fervent allies against outside forces
- sound of happy poetry coming from the vents
… this is the fae. You have reinvented the fae. We are space brownies.
Two identical infants lay in the cradle. “One you bore, the other is a Changeling. Choose wisely,” the Fae’s voice echoed from the shadows. “I’m taking both my children,” the mother said defiantly.
Once upon a time there was a peasant woman who was unhappy because she had no children. She was happy in all other things – her husband was kind and loving, and they owned their farm and had food and money enough. But she longed for children.
She went to church and prayed for a child every Sunday, but no child came. She went to every midwife and wise woman for miles around, and followed all their advice, but no child came.
So at last, though she knew of the dangers, she drew her brown woolen shawl over her head and on Midsummer’s Eve she went out to the forest, to a certain clearing, and dropped a copper penny and a lock of her hair into the old well there, and she wished for a child.
“You know,” a voice said behind her, a low and cunning voice, a voice that had a coax and a wheedle and a sly laugh all mixed up in it together, “that there will be a price to pay later.”
She did not turn to look at the creature. She knew better. “I know it,” she said, still staring into the well. “And I also know that I may set conditions.”
“That is true,” the creature said, after a moment, and there was less laugh in its voice now. It wasn’t pleased that she knew that. “What condition do you set? A boy child? A lucky one?”
“That the child will come to no harm,” she said, lifting her head to stare into the woods. “Whether I succeed in paying your price, or passing your test, or not, the child will not suffer. It will not die, or be hurt, or cursed with ill luck or any other thing. No harm of any kind.”
“Ahhhhh.” The sound was long and low, between a sigh and a hum. “Yes. That is a fair condition. Whatever price there is, whatever test there is, it will be for you and you alone.” A long, slender hand extended into her sight, almost human save for the skin, as pale a green as a new leaf. The hand held a pear, ripe and sweet, though the pears were nowhere ripe yet. “Eat this,” the voice said, and she trembled with the effort of keeping her eyes straight ahead. “All of it, on your way home. Before you enter your own gate, plant the core of it beside the gate, where the ground is soft and rich. You will have what you ask for.”
Science fiction is full of first contact stories, but is there a such thing as LAST contact? Decide exactly what that means, and write about it.
It was too late, when the humans came. They were a young species, still exploring outwards, vital and thriving.
We… were not.
War had ravaged us, and sickness, and war once again, until our population dwindled beyond the point of recovery. We struggled against that, of course… we used genetic manipulation, and cloning, and even more desperate measures. None succeeded. When the humans came, we were sinking into apathy, only a few tens of us left. We had begun to discuss whether we should commit a mass suicide, or simply wait to fade away.
And then the young species came, in their clumsy ships, and they asked us why we were so few.
“We are becoming extinct,” we told them. “We have passed the point of recovery.”
It is custom to avoid the races that are dying – once a species reaches the point of inevitable extinction, even war is suspended, and the fiercest enemy pulls back. The custom was born of plagues and poisons that could be carried forth from a dying world to afflict a healthy one, but it has the implacable weight of tradition now. After we are gone, after they have waited for the prescribed period of quarantine, there will be a fight for our world. Habitable worlds are few, and this is a good one, with plenty of free groundwater and thriving vegetation. It is a bitter thing to be grateful for the custom that allows us to die in peace, but we are grateful.
But the humans don’t know that custom, and they do not leave. They seem distraught, when we tell them we are dying, and try to offer their aid - but their technology is behind ours, and it is too late. When they realize that they can’t save us, though, they do something that bewilders us.
Based off this story prompt/fill (X) where you are born with a designation like Hero, Demon King, Blacksmith, etc.
Your name is Dolly. You are a Villager. You, as well as anyone, know what that means.
——————-.
You are sixteen and it is your first day at school.
Your first lesson is that Villagersare the only ones who start so late.
“Because there’s not much to be taught,” a boy says. His clothes are made of finer cloth than your mother’s wedding dress and his hair is as shiny as the brass buckles on his shoes. He grins at you, as proud as a peacock in front of half the class. “Don’t need to ask what your Destiny is, do I?”
You don’t know why he’s singling you out. A quick glance back into the classroom shows the rest of the students sitting at their desks with their heads low. They’re Villagerstoo. Most of you are. That’s why there isn’t anything special enough about any of you. You look back at the boy. “…are you going to ask me something else?”
“What?”
“If you don’t need to ask me my Destiny,” you say slowly, “do you need to ask me something else?”
“I don’t need to ask anythingfrom a Villager!” the boy cries. He jabs a finger at his own bicep where his mark lies under cloth. “I’m a Lord!”
“Okay,” you say. The other kids behind him are frowning at you. Some of them are Villagers too, but different from you. They’re the children of merchants which is a different sort of destiny altogether. “I need to run some errands for my mother. Will you let me pass?”
You are a supervillain who has just captured your rival’s child. Rather than being afraid, they’re begging you to let them stay.
Frankly, you’d known those idiots had had a kid for years now. You’d pretended not to, because while you’d committed a lot of atrocities in your life, you weren’t willing to face the moral quandary of whether you would knowingly kill a child just to spite its parents.
They probably thought they were being clever though, what with the blaming you for an injury you knew damn well you’d never given keeping one of them out of commission for a few months, then references to what they would ‘leave behind’ or ‘could not follow’ when in the latest death trap. One of them had accidentally pulled a pacifier out of their utility belt once, and tried to pass it off as being prepared for any young children they came across while rescuing.
Idiots.
Still, you had standards. Standards that fell somewhere past war crimes and before common decency, but they were standards.
